Pressure
by Massani
Summary: The pressure that let up at times returned, and she was drowning again, held under the water and yet somehow still on fire, being consumed and left as a shell drifting through the endless ocean, empty and alone. Warning: The Following Story contains scenes that could be potentially triggering to certain readers.


It was perfect. Despite seeing it many times before, Hermione had always marvelled at it: the Room of Requirement. A room that moulded itself to the desires of the seeker.

She had to admit, it served its purpose. More than that, it seemed to go above and beyond to help them. It was colossal; there were potions, any number of wizarding equipment, and books — so many books. Already her mind was racing as she imagined the number of spells and secrets contained within their pages. Some of them were simple, ones they could get from the library like _Jinxes for the Jinxed_ and _The Dark Arts Outsmarted,_ but there were others too. Books she had read about in other books, works referenced and quoted but supposedly lost to the ages. Even more exciting were the nameless ones: the strange ones with faded parchment and words obscured by stains and other blemishes. She could only wonder at what she could learn from them.

Yes, the room was perfect. It was just effortlessly perfect. It wasn't forced to be great, wasn't pushed. It just was, just as she wasn't.

She frowned as the innocent thoughts of literature and magical concoctions fled her mind to be replaced by the ever-increasing darkness. The pressure that let up at times returned, and she was drowning again, held under the water and yet somehow still on fire, being consumed and left as a shell drifting through the endless ocean, empty and alone. That was the worst part, probably — the seclusion and the loneliness. She couldn't talk about it in front of anyone. How could they possibly understand the constant—

"Hermione?"

Wrenched from her thoughts, she shook her head and looked around in shock, not remembering why she was there. Who was talking? She saw the concerned look on Ron's face and remembered. The first meeting of the DA; she, Harry and Ron would be doing some last minute checks, and she had to help them get everything ready. She couldn't focus anymore; it took everything she had just to get up and go to classes, let alone anything like this. Why had she suggested doing it? She couldn't remember. The darkness obscured everything.

"Hermione. Are you okay?" Ron repeated, his face wrinkling as his concern grew.

She forced herself to smile and walked over to him, the sound of her footsteps bouncing off the walls echoing the isolation she felt within her.

"Yeah, don't worry. I'm fine, honestly" She mumbled happily. She hated it when she mumbled, it made her sound stupid. Now, though, she hoped it would help, maybe if she pretended to be tired, no one would realise.

"Are you sure? You were staring into space for a while there, and you look a bit strange." Ron continued, clearly unconvinced by her nonchalance.

Hermione cursed inwardly but made herself seem only confused and slightly amused on the surface.  
"What do you mean?" She asked in her best imitation of a happy person. "I was just thinking about the books here. Just think, Ron — some of the books here haven't been read in hundreds, maybe even thousands of years. Look at this one, for example," She gestured to a thick tome bound in red leather and covered in runes. "It's written entirely in runes, it must be ancient! Think of all the secrets that could have been forgotten and are in there! Like this rune here—" This time pointing to a specific collection of runes on the cover. "This is Eihwaz; it means 'defence', so the book is definitely able to help with the Dark Arts and might have some spells that could change things for everyone! Isn't that exciting?" Despite herself, Hermione actually started to get caught up in the books and runes. Soon it wasn't just feigned happiness; it was genuine excitement, and the darkness was pushed back and replaced with thoughts of spells and incantations, at least for the time being.

For his part, Ron started to relax too, and seemed convinced that she was fine. He grabbed one of the stunning cushions from the side, threw it to the ground and promptly threw himself on top of it, eating one of the seemingly endless supply of snacks he kept in his pockets. He grinned stupidly up at her, chocolate caking his teeth, and she couldn't help but laugh. He was always messy, and it reminded her of the first year with dirt on his nose, struggling to turn his rat yellow.

The thoughts turned sad quickly as it dawned how different everything was now. Back then, everything had been simple and easy, but now it was complicated, and every action had ripples that had ripples and she couldn't put a foot wrong for fear of upsetting the balance. The darkness started to creep in again, and she tried desperately to think of something that would take her mind off it.

"So where's…" she began, before she heard the door open behind her. She turned to see Harry striding towards them in that half-insecure, half-arrogant way he never seemed to notice. He looked as if he wanted to just curl up and sleep. She felt tired just looking at the bags under his eyes. Nightmares again, she reckoned, and she looked towards Ron for confirmation.

But Ron was of no help he just grinned at Harry's arrival. She sighed inwardly, it bewildered her how blind to things he managed to be.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed, struggling to get up from his cushion to meet him and staggering his way over. He seemed tired, too; maybe they were just staying up late together and she was overthinking things again. It wouldn't be the first time. "How was the detention with Snape?" Ron asked, inadvertently answering Hermione's unspoken question.

"Delightful, obviously." Harry sighed as he collapsed onto another cushion near Ron's, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "He had us sorting out the stores and labelling things. Did you know that there's 114 samples of dittany in the stores?"

"I didn't, actually," Ron replied, obviously amused at Harry's apparent suffering. This was not missed by Harry, who promptly threw a cushion at Ron's head. But despite his prowess as a sportsman, Harry wasn't the best shot — he could catch, but throwing seemed to be beyond him, as the cushion sailed past Ron's head and into the wall without any damage at all..

"Yeah. I wish I didn't." Harry replied as he leant backwards and seemed to curl into himself on the floor.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione questioned tentatively. "We can postpone the meeting if you're not up to it."

Harry immediately leant back forwards. "No, I'm okay. Just a little tired." As if to illustrate his point, he rubbed his eyes and slowly got up, appraised the empty room around them. "I'll be fine in a few minutes."

The ease with which Ron seemed to believe that Harry was okay irked Hermione despite the fact that she knew he was right to disbelieve her. She made a mental note to add irrational irritability to her growing list of character defects.

"How long have we got until it's supposed to start?" Harry asked, looking expectantly at Hermione in a way she had come to detest. Yet another person relying on her for answers.

"Just less than forty minutes, I think," she replied without checking the time. It was about right, and it wouldn't take long to set everything up anyway.

"Alright. That's plenty, thanks," Harry said, quickly turning from her again. She hated that about Harry; he always managed to make things about himself. It was true that it often wasn't his fault; he didn't want to put his name in the goblet, he didn't want his parents killed or Ginny taken into the Chamber, but it somehow it always managed to be the Harry Potter show even in little things like homework or classes. But she couldn't really blame him this time, she tried to tell herself; it was her idea to put him in charge even though she couldn't remember why. Why should he lead it?

The darkness was there, and it made everything so blurry.

"You might even have time to help me with my Charms work. You're always so good at it," Ron grinned at her, probably expecting a witty retort. She wouldn't oblige him.

"Because god forbid you actually do anything useful," she spat bitterly at him.

Ron started, looking taken aback and visibly shocked. Harry turned towards Hermione, equally as shocked. Hermione didn't care. Not anymore; she'd snapped.

"What was that about Hermione?" Harry said, more concerned than anything. But it didn't count — He was just as bad as everyone else.

"Oh, nothing the great Harry Potter needs to concern himself with," she replied. These weren't her words, a little voice somewhere in her head whispered. This wasn't her, it repeated. But the sound was muffled, smothered by the shadows worming their way into her every waking moment.

"What are you on about?" Harry asked, angrier now. Good. Let him get angry. Let him feel the pain. Maybe then he'd understand how she felt.

"You don't get it! Either of you," she snapped. She turned and walked towards the door. It felt good to let it all out, finally, but she couldn't explain. They couldn't know. She'd apologise tomorrow. She'd almost reached the door when she felt something pulling her back. Turning back, she saw Harry's hand on her shoulder, all traces of anger gone from his face. Only hurt and concern were left.

"Then explain it to us." He said softly, so understanding.

It made her sick.

"Explain it?" She exclaimed. "How could you possibly understand? You're Harry Potter!"

"And you're Hermione Granger. What's your point?" Harry replied. Always so funny, so full of life. She couldn't handle it. The darkness was taking over again.

"Come on, Hermione. We're your friends. Talk to us." Ron said, joining the conversation at last. "We'll understand"

She broke.

"Understand?" She whispered. The word floated through her mind without really making an impact. How could they understand? She wasn't even sure she did. She knew how she felt, but she wasn't sure if she understood what the feelings were.

She felt the tears start to come along with the overwhelming desire to avoid crying at all costs. Her mental control collapsed immediately, and she was forced to try physical methods instead. She started blinking faster and faster to keep the tears from escaping the prison of her eyelashes. She closed her eyes for a bit longer than a blink, and then all at once she was crying.

The tears came slowly at first, trickling down her face and falling to the floor, but then all at once the pace increased and the tears streamed out with all her emotions. No venom. No darkness. Just her emotions, pure and unfiltered.

"You just don't understand the pressure I'm under," she said, only a fraction louder than a whisper. "I have to be perfect. Everyone expects me to be right. All the time, my homework has to get full marks. My uniform has to be immaculate. I'm constantly forced to live up to a reputation I had no intention of ever having, one that I have no control over now that I do. I just wanted to be good, but now I have to be the best or I'm nothing."

There was silence for a moment as the other two contemplated on what she said, before it was broken by the most unlikely sound. Laughter.

Harry started laughing. Not cruelly, but not with mirth either; it was sad laughter.

"I don't understand?" he said "I'm Harry Potter. You said it yourself. I'm the Boy Who Lived; before I could talk I had stopped one of the most powerful wizards of all time! I think that meets your criteria of inadvertently creating a reputation about yourself, doesn't it?"

Then an even stranger thing happened: Hermione laughed too. Neither sad, nor cruel, nor even really happy. It was as tired a laugh as possible, but it was genuine — and it had been months since she could say she had truly laughed.

"I suppose it does," she admitted. "But you've always managed to live up to it. You got the Philosopher's Stone, killed the Basilisk, won the Triwizard Tournament and all sorts of things. You're a living legend — in years to come people will never believe what you've achieved on your own."

"So there's no pressure associated with that is there?" Harry grinned. "When it comes down to it we all have pressure. But we have to get on with it. We understand, Hermione."

"Yeah," Ron interrupted.

The two turned to look at him, lost in their thoughts and conversation, they had almost forgotten he was there.

"Well, I know it's not like I'm the Boy Who Lived or the Muggle-born genius, but I still have pressure. Like, I'm always compared to my siblings, aren't I? Bill, Charlie, Percy… They're all so smart! All so hardworking and responsible and — I'm just me. I'm nothing that special, so…" He started to trail off and looked directly at Hermione. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I get it, Hermione."

She felt as if she would burst. All those weeks and months of pain, and in half an hour it had all been alleviated. It was gone, as if it had never been there at all. The darkness was illuminated and she could see clearly again. She could see her friends and the people around her who loved her.

In the years to come she was tried and tested many times, and there were occasions where, despite all her talent, ability and preparation she was found wanting. But she remembered that afternoon in the Room of Requirement and knew that she was not alone.


End file.
